Contempt of wealth and pleasure, to appear
To all mankind with hofpitable cheer.
In afterages Arthur taught his Knights
At his Round Table to record their fights,
Cities eraz'd, encampments forc'd in field,
Monsters fubdu'd, and hideous tyrants quell'd,
Infpir'd that Cambrian foul which ne'er can yield.
Then Guy, the pride of Warwick! truly great,
To future heroes due example fet;

By his capacious cauldron made appear
From whence the spirits rife and strength of war.
The prefent age, to gallantry inclin'd,
Is pleas'd with vaft improvements of the mind.
He that of honour, wit, and mirth, partakes,
May be a fit companion o'er beef-fleaks;
His name may be to future times enroll'd

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In Eftcourt's book *, whofe gridiron 's fram'd of gold. Scorn not thefe lines, defign'd to let you know Profits that from a wellplac'd table flow.

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That is, be admitted a member of The Beef-Steak Club. Richard Lacourt, who was a player and dramatick writer, is celebrated in The Spectator as poffeffed of a sprightly wit and an eafy and natural politenefs. His company was much coveted by the great, on account of his qualifications as a boon companion. When the famous Peef-Steak Club was firft inftituted he had the office of Providore affigned him; and as a mark of diftination used to wear a final gridiron of gold hung about his neck with a green filk riband. He died in the year 1713.

"Tis a fage question if the Art of Cooks Is lodg'd by Nature or attain'd by books? That man will never frame a noble treat Whose whole dependance lies in fome receipt: Then by pure Nature ev'ry thing is spoil'd; She knows no more than ftew'd, bak'd, roast, and When Art and Nature join, th' effect will be [boil'd. Some nice ragout or charming fricaffee.

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The lad that would his genius fo advance That on the rope he might fecurely dance, From tender years enures himself to pains, To fummer's parching heat and winter's rains, And from the fire of wine and love abftains. No artist can his hautboy's ftops command Unless fome skilful master form his hand; But gentry take their Cooks tho' never try'd ; It seems no more to them than up and ride. Preferments granted thus fhew him a fool That dreads a parent's check or rods at school. Oxcheek when hot, and wardens bak'd, fome cry,

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But it is with an intention men fhould buy:
Others abound with fuch a plenteous store,
That if you'll let them treat they 'll afk no more;

And it is the vast ambition of their foul

To fee their Port admir'd and table full :

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But then amidst that cringing fawning crowd

Who talk fo very much and laugh fo loud,
Who with fuch grace his Honour's actions praife,
How well he fences, dances, fings, and plays!

Tell him his livery's rich, his chariot's fine,
How choice his meat and delicate his wine!
Surrounded thus, how should the youth defcry
The happiness of friendship from a lie?
Friends act with cautious temper when fincere,
But flatt'ring impudence is void of care:
So at an Irish funeral appears

A train of drabs with mercenary tears,

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Who wringing oft' their hands, with hideous moan,
Know not his name for whom they seem to groan;
While real Grief with filent fteps proceeds,
And love unfeign'd with inward paffion bleeds.
Hard fate of wealth! Were lords as butchers wife
They from their meat would banish all the flies.
The Perfian kings with wine and maffy bowl
Search'd to the dark receffes of the foul,
That fo laid open no one might pretend
Unless a man of worth to be their friend;
But now the guests their patrons undermine,
And flander them for giving them their wine.
Great men have dearly thus companions bought :
Unless by thefe inftructions they'll be taught 571
They spread the net and will themselves be caught.
Were Horace, that great master, now alive,
A feaft with wit and judgment he 'd contrive;
As thus. Supposing that you would rehearse 575
A labour'd work, and ev'ry dish a verse,

He'd fay, "Mend this, and t' other line, and this."
If after trial it were ftill amifs,

He'd bid you give it a new turn of face,
Or fet fome difh more curious in its place.
If you perfift, he would not strive to move
A paffion fo delightful as felflove.

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We should submit our treats to criticks' view, And ev'ry prudent Cook fhould read Boffu. Judgment provides the meat in feafon fit, Which by the genius dreft its fauce is wit. Good beef for men, pudding for youth and age, Come up to the decorum of the flage. The critick strikes out all that is not just, And it is ev'n fo the butler chips his cruft. Poets and pastry-Cooks will be the same, Since both of them their images must frame: Chimeras from the poet's fancies flow, The Cook contrives his shapes in real dough. When Truth commands there is no man can offend That with a modeft love corrects his friend, Tho' it is in toasting bread or butt'ring pease, So the reproof has temper, kindness, ease. But why should we reprove when faults are small? Because it is better to have none at all. There is often weight in things that seem the least, And our most trifling follies raife the jeft.

'Tis by his cleanlinefs a Cook must please; A kitchen will admit of no difeafe.

The fowler and the huntsman both may run
Amidst that dirt which he must nicely fhun.

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Empedocles, a fage of old, would raife
A name immortal by unusual ways:
At laft his fancies grew fo very odd

He thought by roafting to be made a god.
Tho' fat, he leapt with his unwieldy stuff
In Ætna's flames, fo to have fire enough.
Were my Cook fat, and I a stander-by,
I'd rather than himself his fifh fhould fry.

There are fome perfons fo exceffive rude
That to your private table they 'll intrude.
In vain you fly, in vain pretend to fast;
Turn like a fox they 'll catch you at the last.
You muft, fince bars and doors are no defence,
Ev'n quit your house as in a peftilence.

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Be quick, nay very quick, or he 'll approach,

And as you 're scamp'ring stop you in your coach. Then think of all your fins, and you will fee

How right your guilt and punishment agree:
Perhaps no tender pity could prevail,

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But you would throw fome debtor into jail:
Now mark th' effect of this prevailing curfe,
You are detain'd by fomething that is worse.
Were it in my election, I fhould chufe

1o meet a rav'nous wolf or bear got loofe.
e'll eat and talk, and talking still will eat:

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Ma quarter from the parafite you'll get;

But if a leech well fix'd he 'll fuck what's good, And never part till fatisfy'd with blood.

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